The Shadows of a Place I Have Been Before
by Silverspoon
Summary: FAGE for Speklez. AU with lots of OCs. There was a part of Klaus that was merciful and good, ever eager to ride in on a white horse; a knight in somewhat tarnished armour. And yet there was a part of Klaus that just longed to be saved.
1. Chapter 1

**FAGE 007**

**Title: **TheShadows of a Place I Have Been Before

**Written for: **Speklez

**Written By: **Silverspoon

**Rating: **T for violence and language

**Summary/Prompt used: **'Knight in shining armour' and photo prompt.

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group:** **Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps, or add the C2 to get all the stories direct to your inbox.**

** www**** . fanfiction community /FAGE-007/93625/**

**The Shadows of a Place I Have Been Before**

_**Part I**_

_**New Orleans, 1725**_

Humans were peculiar creatures, to Klaus' mind at least. It had been a long time indeed since he had been engaged in the pretense of being one, and his memories of what it had meant to breathe air into his lungs from necessity rather than habit had ebbed away.

Now, at best, Klaus thought of the human race as playthings he could use to stem his boredom and, at worst, he regarded them as food. Blood was capable of sustaining his body but his mind was a different matter entirely, and Klaus had found that periodically engaging with the humans could bring him some degree of entertainment. Without such interactions, the days stretched on endlessly and made him weary. It was far better to scour the underbelly of the city, _Nouvelle-Orleans_ as it had been christened - and to be the advocate of some bare knuckle fight to the death in a seedy tavern- than it was to wallow in the monotony that accompanied immortality.

Whilst Rebekah filled her days with clawing for the attention of young men who were not worthy of her affections and Elijah chased after his own diminished sense of nobility, Klaus watched the humans as they simply existed. Although each life was a mere drop in the ocean compared to that of the Mikaelson siblings, who would live through the rise and fall of empires, Klaus found himself intrigued by what he saw.

Birth and death were of little consequence to him but all the bits in between… oh how glorious they could be! Lust, anger, greed, fear, depravity, and every other blind passion suffered by the human condition had the power to enthrall the hybrid, more than he cared to admit. In the humans he saw watered down versions of his own weaknesses, and to some extent it comforted him to know that not all of what he had once been was eradicated by his supernatural heritage. And on the other hand, their sin was a subject of great amusement to the hybrid.

So as each afternoon dwindled to dusk, and the poor spilled onto the streets like a shower of unpredictable meteorites hurtling towards the heart of the city, Klaus also stepped out into the humid New Orleans night.

His clothing set him apart from most with its fine golden brocade and the polished leather of his boots and belt, but it was his demeanour that truly made Klaus stand out. He carried and conducted himself like royalty, until such a time as he became displeased; then he could easily be mistaken for the most lethal rogue imaginable. As a result, he had garnered quite the reputation for himself over recent months, and that was just how the tempestuous Mikaelson liked it. Respect was something that Klaus was aware could not be bought with any amount of money, but he had discovered through experience that it could be earned by spilling enough blood.

As Klaus strolled down the narrow streets, a cane tipped with a silver wolf's head nestled snugly in one hand, his eyes roved every last inch of his surroundings. He scoured faces and also tuned in to snippets of conversation spoken streets away in a bid to find something to pique his interest. He was on his second loop of the neighbourhood when tedium began to overwhelm him and he impulsively veered towards a tavern set in the middle of a line of buildings. When all else failed, Klaus was not averse to turning to alcohol to dull his boredom.

However, the sound of raucous laughter from within immediately irritated the hybrid, and he allowed his hand to fall away from the door handle. He turned from the tavern with his nose tipped up in scorn and was in the process of making his way back onto the main street when a very pronounced scuffling sound drew his attention to the side of the building. Despite the darkness, Klaus could easily make out the alleyway that existed between the tavern and the cobbler's next door to it. He knew that there were many short-cuts into the French quarter from his current location and presumed it to be one such route. Although tonight he had little vested interest in the geography of the area, Klaus moved closer to the mouth of the alley, intent on investigating it further. Not only was he enticed by the very obvious sounds of a skirmish but there was a familiar and intriguing scent hanging in the air that Klaus could not ignore.

Lingering on the threshold of the alleyway, framed by the dank walls that curved into a slight arch above his head, Klaus stood and surveyed the scene before him with interest. A tall, heavy set man, reeking of booze and ill-intent, stood in front of a woman who had found herself backed up against a wall. His hands continually nipped at her waist and he loomed over her with a drunken sneer. The woman was steady in her resolve and she slapped his fingers away each time they fumbled at the bodice of her gown. The cloak around her shoulders was moth-eaten and thin, and the bonnet she wore was too plain to be considered a fashion statement. Her crimson and purple dress was cut lower than polite society usually made allowances for and, coupled with the fact that the slightly open strings of her corset were peeking out above her cleavage, Klaus quickly deduced that the woman was a prostitute.

"I already told you, I ain't working no more tonight," she insisted, her Creole accent as thick as the black ringlets that tumbled down her back from beneath her bonnet. Muttering something unintelligible, the drunk lunged for her again, this time endeavouring to plunge his hand into the mound of her breasts. The young woman only pressed herself further back against the wall and, with surprising speed, delivered a slap to the man's jaw that echoed throughout the alley. Klaus managed to bite back a chuckle as the affronted man dropped back a few paces, his expression bewildered as he clutched his cheek.

"You're drunk, Mr. Martin," the woman hissed, her breath hitching in a betrayal of the unease she felt, "go home… to your _wife_. Perhaps she'll find it in her heart to oblige your yearnings. Now good night, sir."

Impressed by the woman's show of courage, Klaus smirked and arched a brow, still watching undiscovered from the shadows. However, as the woman began to push herself away from the wall and set off in the opposite direction, Martin lunged forwards and grabbed her. The prostitute cried out, surprised as the man swung her around and pinned her back into place with one elbow wedged at her throat.

"Whores do _not_ get to choose," Mr. Martin spat, leaning over the woman in a hideous display of his superior height and strength. She made a startled choking sound, her ability to breathe clearly compromised, and her fingers fastened around the arm that held her. As the man's other hand bunched up her skirts in a bid to hoist them up above her waist and the woman's breathing grew more erratic, Klaus felt his temper beginning to swell like the rising tide. It swept over his whole body until every last nerve was consumed by the desire to intervene in the injustice he witnessed. Although the situations were only vaguely similar, the million or so times that Klaus had found himself dominated by his monstrous father sprang to the forefront of his mind, fuelling his rage further until he became powerless to act against it. The memory of Mikael's face, cruel and twisted by hatred, mingled with the features of Martin, and Klaus felt his fangs elongating.

When the woman uttered a faint "please" that was so filled with desperation, Klaus found that he was already moving forwards at inhuman speed. He whirled the cane he held around in his hand and brought it down hard on the arm that the man had extended, breaking the bone with an audible crack. Mr. Martin would have fallen to his knees with a scream if it were not for the fact that Klaus caught him by the neck before he hit the ground. With his fingers fastened around the man's throat, Klaus raised him easily aloft, enjoying the way his feet struggled against air to find purchase against the ground that he had been plucked from.

The woman only watched from her position half crouched against the wall, her fingertips massaging her own throat as she coughed.

"Now, Mr. Martin, is that any way to treat a lady?" Klaus scolded, cocking his head to one side as he observed his prey. Martin's eyes grew hopelessly wide as dark veins snaked their way across Klaus' face, communicating not only his anger but also his hunger. He was tearing into the man's jugular with his fangs a mere fraction of a second later, gulping down great mouthfuls of blood that was laced with far too much alcohol and opium to really prove enjoyable. When he had drunk his fill, Klaus dropped the corpse to the ground and fished in his lapel pocket for a handkerchief. The attributes of his vampiric nature melted away as the blood hit his belly, warming him from the inside the way only a hearty meal can. Then Klaus finally cast a glance to where the woman he had rescued had stood. He expected to find that she had long since fled. He was more than a little surprised, and impressed if truth be told, when he found a pair of intense, brown eyes regarding him across the alley. Klaus straightened up and readjusted his neckerchief as he waited for the question he knew must be poised on the tip of the woman's tongue; the question he had heard uttered in fear or shrieked in blind terror so many times over his life; what are you?

"Thank you…"

Klaus blinked, visibly taken aback when the words spilled from the woman's lips. She cast a glance at the body on the floor and Klaus' surprise was renewed when he found only satisfaction present in her eyes.

"I trust that I do not need to caution you to keep better company in future," Klaus replied, the smile that wove its way across his lips genuine. The woman scoffed and shook her head, her hair bouncing at her shoulders.

"Until tomorrow night," she murmured disdainfully, and Klaus was horrified when tears began to slide down her cheeks and splash on to the front of her bodice.

"Hush now, love," he stated somewhat awkwardly, moving forward and finding it an instinctive gesture to fold the woman into his arms, "I am certain it isn't that bad."

When she hiccupped a sob in response, Klaus only frowned, stroking her back gently but in evident discomfort. If a woman were to take to weeping at a man's shoulder, it was usually Elijah that could be counted on to fulfil the role in question. Klaus was much more comfortable with breaking necks and tearing out throats, although he supposed he had already done enough of the latter for one evening.

"I'm sorry," the woman finally breathed, extracting herself from Klaus' arms and wiping her tear streaked cheeks hurriedly with the bottom of her cloak, "you must think me a terrible fool."

"Actually, I have you pegged as either rather stupid or rather brave," the vampire countered, pleased when the woman giggled at his words. "What is your name?"

"Desiree," she whispered, her gaze suddenly dropping to her clasped hands and lingering there. "Desiree Viard."

"Well, Desiree," Klaus repeated, smile growing as he tasted the foreign name on his tongue, "I trust that, since you have neither fainted nor run screaming into the quarter, you already know what I am, and most curiously have chosen not to fear it."

"There are worse things in this city," she only replied, her features darkening as she regarded Klaus.

"Is that so?" murmured the hybrid, thoroughly intrigued now by the woman. With a smile, he prodded, "When was the last time you ate?"

Desiree seemed to shrink in to herself, clutching at her own frail shoulders almost self-consciously as she avoided the man's gaze.

"Day before yesterday," she responded, her expression defiant as she added, "but like I told him, I ain't working anymore tonight."

"You misunderstand me, love," said Klaus, "I simply wish to buy you a drink and a hot meal… your first this week, I'll wager. Nothing more and nothing less. What do you say?"

Klaus saw the indecision flicker behind her eyes but there was a definite absence of fear, and so he felt his curiosity deepen. Finally, just when he had begun to anticipate rejection, Desiree bobbed her head and stepped forward. Klaus offered her his arm, and that was how the hybrid came to find himself walking hand in hand through the streets of New Orleans with a prostitute who could barely have been older than seventeen.

True to his word, he bought the woman dinner at the most extravagant local restaurant he could find. He quietly enjoyed the hostile glares shot their way by the patrons, who were loathed to allow a known hooker into their fine establishment. However, there were few as foolish as to argue with a Mikaelson, and Klaus maintained his smug grin as the waiter kept up a steady stream of liquor to their glasses. By the time they came to leave the restaurant, almost an hour after it had been due to close, Desiree was quite intoxicated and even lovelier. Klaus had come to learn that she was an orphan, tasked with taking care of a younger sister who required expensive medical treatment that just could not be obtained on a seamstress' wage. When she spoke of her sister, Desiree's face took on an altogether different appearance; her eyes became more focused and somehow fierce, and her voice grew authoritative in a way that Klaus admired.

By the time she had agreed to accompany him to a hotel in the quarter, and they were kissing their way backwards up a winding staircase, soft brown lips against a pink calloused mouth, Klaus had already made up his mind. Finally, when Desiree fell back against the bed, her resolve all but forgotten, Klaus realised just what the scent that had taunted him all evening was.

He uttered a single word, his eyes wide with shock, "Wolf…"

Desiree, who had been lost in the oncoming moment, (sprawled back against the bed with her head lolling), slowly straightened up and affixed the hybrid with a level stare.

"I was wondering how long it would take you," she replied, and for the first time during the course of the evening, she seemed frightened. Klaus blew out a breath and sunk onto the mattress at the woman's side, his eyes fixed upon her face.

"Do you turn?" he pressed, leaning forwards and capturing one of her hands in his own. He was faintly disappointed when she shook her head.

"My curse has never been activated," she answered, swallowing hard as she finished, "but for the first time ever, tonight I wished it had."

Klaus' eyebrows shot up and he peered at the woman through the dim candlelight.

"So had I not have disposed of Mr. Martin then you…" Klaus began, silenced as Desiree interrupted.

"Would have killed him?" she finished, a sudden bout of hollow laughter bubbling up from her throat. "In a damned second. But I'm glad you got there first. I'm glad it wasn't me."

Klaus fell silent, truly rendered speechless by the woman before him who at first had seemed so helpless and yet now appeared more hopeless than anything.

"Why? Why not activate the curse and be free of all this?" he wondered aloud, shaking his head to convey his lack of understanding, "your strength and speed would be unequalled by any human man… whatever you desired could be yours and no more would you feel the shame of this… this existence. You could live like a queen, as you deserve."

Desiree was silent as the moments elapsed with only the faint sounds of life filtering in from the street outside to punctuate them. Eventually, she raised her gaze and affixed Klaus with a tight lipped smile.

"Sure… I could… but not Marie. Not my baby sister," she replied, her voice almost cracking. She allowed her eyes to fall to her skirt again as she continued, "Her sickness is in her mind. When I have money for the doctor, it's never good news. I promised our Mama that I would take care of her and there ain't nothing on this earth fixing to make me break that promise. So I do what I need to get by and I don't say no more about it."

Klaus nodded, his mind drifting to the words that he and his siblings had written their code by for hundreds of years; always and forever, family above all. He understood – more than anything, he understood.

"So tonight when you showed up, I was grateful," Desiree confessed, her voice small and verging on ashamed, "I was so grateful that you could do what I couldn't. Not because I was scared or because I didn't want to… but because Marie needs me to be this way."

"All this," Klaus began, pausing to gesture to the hotel room with a sweep of his hand, "is your way of expressing gratitude?"

At Desiree's downcast look alone, Klaus had his answer.

"Please, don't be angry… it's the only way I know how anymore," Desiree pleaded, her features drawn together in such earnest that Klaus felt a pang of long suppressed pity seize his heart. Leaning forwards, Klaus made soothing shushing sounds before cupping Desiree's chin in both hands and drawing her close to him for one final kiss. Her tongue poked at his lips hungrily until he allowed her access to his mouth, one hand gripping the back of her head through mountains of curls. They broke apart only when Desiree's need for air thwarted their need for each other, and then Klaus peered deep into the young woman's eyes. She was enthralled within seconds, staring straight ahead and awaiting her instructions.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle, his usual mirthful lilt buried beneath a new undertone of quiet regret.

"You will forget this night just as you will forget me. You know nothing of the body in the alleyway, you were entertaining a wealthy gentleman in the quarter the whole evening. You spent the night together in this hotel and when you woke in the morning, he was gone. There will be enough money on the dresser to pay for your company and your next year's rent, as well as extra for the physician your sister will require," Klaus explained, smoothing his thumb over the back of Desiree's hand as he spoke in a commanding monotone, "although you will not remember me, you will remember your promise to your mother, and you will keep it above all things... until your dying day."

Swallowing hard, Klaus trailed off, pausing to gather his thoughts in order to impart his final instructions.

"Now, you will sleep, far from the place where nightmares are real, or where men in alleyways seek to destroy all that is good within you," he whispered, rising from the bed as Desiree nodded and obediently lay back against the pillows. Her eyelids closed and her breathing evened out, signifying that every word of the compulsion that Klaus weaved had hit its mark.

For just a moment, the original stood and watched the woman's chest rise and fall, comforted by the fact that he had kept her monsters at bay for one night at least.

Leaning over the bed, Klaus brushed a lock of hair away from Desiree's forehead and pressed a chaste kiss against her cheek.

"Rest well, Desiree Viard," he murmured with just the hint of a smile.

When the breeze next rustled through the hotel room from the open window, Desiree was asleep and Klaus was gone.

Just ten years later, when her body was interred into an unmarked plot in a New Orleans graveyard, Klaus walked among the tombstones with Rebekah, before laying a single rose down in offering to the woman he had once thought he had saved from a monster, only to save from herself. He knew then beyond all doubt that some promises were just worth keeping, whether it be always and forever, or simply until your dying day.


	2. Chapter 2

**FAGE 007**

**Title: **TheShadows of a Place I Have Been Before

**Written for: **Speklez

**Written By: **Silverspoon

**Rating: **T for violence and language

**Summary/Prompt used: **'Knight in shining armour' and photo prompt.

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group:** **Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps, or add the C2 to get all the stories direct to your inbox.**

** www**** . fanfiction community /FAGE-007/93625/**

**The Shadows of a Place I Have Been Before**

_**Part II**_

_**New Orleans, 1836**_

When Klaus returned to the same alleyway some years later, very little had changed. Of course, New Orleans itself had become more polished, more complete, and much more of a home to the original vampire and his kin. Yet very little in that dark warren of rats, grey bricks and filth had changed.

It was on a jaunt through 'his' city, with the newly reborn Marcel at his side, that Klaus once more felt compelled to revisit that place. For a moment, he simply stood in the mouth of the alley, allowing the memories to flood over him. A particular face burned bright and beautiful in his mind, and Klaus half expected to see a small hand reaching out towards him.

What he saw instead was a mangy, feral cat scurrying through piles of balled up paper and empty glass bottles, a fresh kill clamped in its jaws.

Oblivious to Klaus' moment of private reverie, Marcel stepped forwards and, with all the ineloquence of a recently sired vampire, clapped Klaus a little too vigorously on the shoulder. Instinctively, Klaus growled low in his throat and Marcel smiled by way of apology.

"What are we doing here?" Marcel inquired, although his tone was suitably respectful.

Klaus merely smiled, unbeknown to Marcel taking several seconds to gather his wits and bury the memory of a pair of plump feminine lips upon his own.

"A true king knows every inch of his kingdom, Marcellus," Klaus finally elected to reply, amusement colouring his tone as he added, "even the rank, putrid corners he would rather pretend did not exist."

At Marcel's still bemused expression, Klaus declared, "There is a short=cut to the French quarter up ahead. Since I have very little to fear from common thieves or drunken louts, I intend to use it."

Knowing better than to argue, Marcel began to pick his way through the darkness and follow in Klaus' wake, deliberately negating to breathe to protect his nostrils from the odours that assailed them. However, less than several paces further he almost ran straight in to Klaus' back, finding that the hybrid had stopped just short of the centre of the alley and was staring at the Tom-cat.

The animal had abandoned its felled prey and was kneading a bundle of rags pushed up against the wall. Klaus watched seemingly entranced whilst Marcel struggled to fathom just what about the sight had captured the other man's interest.

"If you're thinking 'midnight snack', I'd reconsider," Marcel advised, frustrated beyond all measure when he failed to identify the point of Klaus' interest. "I hear the strays in this city got more fleas than a werewolf's uncle."

Remarkably, Klaus ignored the deliberate barb and instead moved a step forwards. The cat ceased its industrious pawing just long enough to hiss at him – no doubt the usual inter-species animosity coming into play.

"Klaus…" Marcel began, growing bored and thirsty in the way that only a 'newborn' can.

"Listen," Klaus instructed, his tone clipped and his lips pursed. He held up one hand to demand quiet but Marcel steamed ahead regardless, impatient and feeling antsy.

"To what?" demanded Marcel, kicking out in frustration at the cat as it yowled and swiped wildly at his leg. The creature arched its back and scurried off into the distance, not even bothering to collect the corpse of the mouse it had mauled.

Klaus indicated the pile of rags and, with an irritated huff, Marcel strained his ears in order to detect whatever it was that had captured his friend's attention so raptly.

Eventually, the sound of a human heart struggling to tap out a rhythm filled Marcel's ears. In the next moment, Klaus was on the ground on his knees, moving the tangle of grimy blankets and burlap sacks aside.

Through half closed eyes, a little girl peered up at the two men, too sick and wretched to so much as utter a murmur as Klaus pulled her into his arms. She was a tiny thing, fragile and pale white against the backdrop of the darkness. Her blonde hair was matted to her dirt streaked face and she wore a dress that appeared many sizes too big, whether or not due to her sheer emaciation Marcel had no idea.

"Shhh, it's alright, little one," Klaus soothed, his hand moving to the child's neck. Marcel stiffened, half expecting to hear a sharp crack ring out when the hybrid snapped it. However, when none came, Marcel frowned in surprise, instead watching Klaus search for the child's pulse.

"She is weak. She won't last the rest of the night," Klaus observed as he felt her pulse flutter against his fingertips like the broken wings of a bird; irregular and all too delicate.

As Klaus looked down into her eyes, the vacancy of her stare was apparent and he knew that she was precariously walking the line between this world and the next.

"What do we care?" Marcel pressed, although he found himself almost choking on the words, which seemed far too harsh spilling from his own lips.

Klaus' head snapped up and he observed Marcel with an unreadable expression.

"This is _my_ city and it is my duty to take care of her people," Klaus declared, an almost dangerously affronted smile gracing his lips as he added, "unless you would have me break the little wretch's neck here and now, Marcellus?"

Had he not already been dead, Marcel was certain that his cheeks would have been emblazoned with the crimson shame his previous thoughts now evoked. After all, Klaus had once saved him from a fate worse than death. Marcel knew from experience that there were times that the man inside Klaus Mikaelson was capable of eclipsing the monster, and so he bowed his head and shrugged out of his overcoat before passing it to Klaus to wrap around the child.

As Klaus stood with the petite body clutched in his arms, the child let out a feeble whimper and Marcel heard her fear reflected in the stuttering of her heart.

"There, there, love," Klaus quietly soothed, "no one will harm you."

By the time they had returned to the compound, the girl's breathing had grown worryingly shallow and her cheeks had begun to adopt an almost grey hue. Marcel knew well the signs of impending death; in fact, he had become uncomfortably familiar with them having grown up around the Mikaelsons. They seemed to wrought death and destruction wherever they went, and now Marcel could add his own name to their ever growing list of violent cohorts. He was still uncertain as to how he felt about this fact, but he pushed his own musings aside as he and Klaus stormed into the courtyard with the girl.

Elijah, who had been seated around a small table with a glass of wine at his fingertips, wordlessly rose from his chair. Marcel could see his gaze ticking from Klaus' face to the child and back again as the vampire attempted to discern just what had transpired over the course of their outing. A shadow of concern flickered across Elijah's features before he managed to tuck it away behind a composed mask.

Finally, he spoke, his commanding voice echoing around the yard with just a little less of its usual certainty, "A child? Niklaus, surely…"

"Do you take me for the embodiment of complete and utter evil, Elijah? Or just a madman?" Klaus snarled, brushing past his brother unconcernedly and beginning to alight the stone staircase leading to his quarters. Over his shoulder he called out, "Fetch a physician. Compel one if you have to, just get him here immediately."

Elijah and Marcel exchanged looks, the former arching a dark eyebrow at their young protégé.

Marcel blew out a breath from between puffed cheeks and simply replied, "Don't ask. I don't even know."

After dispatching two of the vampires he trusted most to return with a still-live physician, Marcel followed Klaus to his chambers. He knocked quietly at the door through sheer habit but did not wait to be welcomed before he pushed it open and strode inside. The sight that greeted him was wholly unexpected and probably the most obscure thing he had witnessed since becoming a part of the Mikaelson clan.

Klaus had laid the child on his bed and was attentively wiping at her forehead with a damp wash-cloth. He had removed her tattered dress and replaced it with one of his own shirts, and now that the child's bare legs were visible, Marcel could see the pattern of blue and purple bruises that mottled them. He swallowed hard, knowing that bruises like that were not merely the product of being a rambunctious child. Whatever Hell she had come from, she had escaped it not a moment too soon.

"Are you going to stand there gawking, Marcel, or do you intend to make yourself useful at some point in the present century?" Klaus asked acerbically, pausing in his task to direct a glare at Marcel.

"What should I…?" Marcel stammered, too taken aback by the sudden rush of his unpleasant childhood memories coupled with the scene before him to think clearly.

"A glass of water," instructed Klaus, dipping the cloth back into the bowl at the side of the bed and then wringing it out. "It is the fever that will take her. If we can break it, she may just live to see another sunrise. Isn't that right, Josephine?"

"Josephine?" Marcel repeated, staring dumbly at Klaus.

"Her name," the hybrid replied.

"She told you?" asked Marcel, his brow furrowed as he glanced at the child, who appeared near comatose now, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"Does that surprise you?" Klaus countered, balancing himself on the edge of the mattress next to the little girl and laying the cloth against her forehead. Marcel wisely negated to respond and instead set about filling a glass with water from the tap in Klaus' en-suite.

As they waited for the doctor to arrive, Josephine's fever seemed to spike and Klaus grew increasingly restless. He remained at the girl's side, cooling her forehead with the wash-cloth and intermittently humming a lullaby to calm her. Marcel recognised the tune immediately; it was the same one that Klaus had hummed for him one night so many years ago.

The first night that the young Marcel had been brought to the compound, he had lain awake in his bed, listening in fear to the sounds of vampires passing outside his door and the creaking of the old floorboards as they settled. When he had been unable to bare being alone any longer, Marcel had stolen from his bed and padded across to Klaus' room, where he had slipped beneath the sheets next to the hybrid, quivering in fear even as he anticipated some form of harsh reprimand. Klaus had remained with his back to the boy but, after a few minutes, he had begun to hum an old, Norse lullaby until the child at his side had forgotten his terror.

Marcel swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat and stepped aside as the door swung open.

When the compelled physician, still dressed in his nightgown, pronounced a diagnosis of acute pneumonia and advised the Mikaelsons to summon a priest, Marcel was taken aback by the wild look in Klaus' eyes. Elijah ushered the doctor from the bedroom before his brother had a chance to indulge in one of his characteristic outbursts or, as Rebekah had occasionally referred to them, temper tantrums.

"Should I send someone for Father Reynard?" Marcel gently inquired, taking in the look of sudden, overwhelming sorrow that crashed across Klaus' features as he stared at the floor.

He was met with only stony silence and so Marcel turned on his heel to set about his newest task.

"She will not die."

As the words pierced the stillness, Marcel wheeled around in surprise to regard Klaus.

"But the doc said…" he began, his confusion evident. Klaus shook his head and Marcel trailed off.

"I know," Klaus answered in his usual carefully calm manner. He beckoned Marcel over to the bedside with a curled finger, his voice low as he said, "I wish to show you something. I wish to teach you the power of the blood that now courses through your veins. This is the gift we can bestow on humanity, when we are feeling merciful."

Marcel peered curiously at Klaus, watching as the hybrid raised his own wrist to his jaws and tore into the vein with his teeth. Blood pooled from the wound immediately and, before it could begin to heal at the unnatural rate gifted to an immortal, Klaus pressed his bleeding arm to the child's lips. Marcel's mouth fell open as he watched the child begin to swallow and drink, and slowly but surely the colour started to return to her cheeks. Seconds later, Klaus pulled away and Marcel saw that the girl's mouth was stained crimson. The rise and fall of her chest was now steadier and more natural. Marcel listened hard and felt a smile bloom as the sound of a renewed human heartbeat echoed in his ears.

"Elijah views it as interfering with the natural order of things," Klaus stated, wiping the smears of blood away from his already healed wrist with the wash-cloth. "He believes that death should wait for no man when the time comes."

"And you?" Marcel inquired, cocking his head as he watched Klaus begin to raise the bed-sheet around the child, tucking her in for an evening of slumber like an attentive father might. When he was done, he regarded Marcel; his own surrogate child.

"I have a rule about children," Klaus murmured, so quietly that Marcel had to strain to hear even with his heightened senses. With that, Klaus strode from the bedroom, leaving Marcel to sit at the foot of Josephine's bed until she woke hours later.

Elijah secured the child a home with the family of a local governor, and the Mikaelsons were able to watch her grow from afar for a good many years, until she became a bride and moved away to begin a family of her own.

It was not the first lesson that Klaus had taught his ward and intended heir, but it was perhaps the most long-lasting. From that time on, no matter where he found himself or what heinous misdeeds he could be held accountable for, Marcel Gerard had a rule about children.


	3. Chapter 3

**FAGE 007**

**Title: **The Shadows of a Place I Have Been Before

**Written for: **Speklez

**Written By: **Silverspoon

**Rating: **T for violence and language

**Summary/Prompt used: **'Knight in shining armour' and photo prompt.

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group:** **Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps, or add the C2 to get all the stories direct to your inbox.**

** www**** . fanfiction community /FAGE-007/93625/**

**The Shadows of a Place I Have Been Before**

_**Part III**_

_**New Orleans, 1900**_

It was Rebekah who next brought Klaus to that desolate place, almost one hundred years after his last encounter there. Ever since Niklaus had removed the dagger from his sister's heart just three years previously, Rebekah had been holding a grudge that no amount of fine jewels, new dresses or lavish parties seemed able to chip away at. The youngest surviving original was renowned for her ability to quietly seethe, having always been prone to sulking even as a child. It was the one habit her daughter possessed that Esther had despised, but despite her best efforts to break Rebekah of it she had not succeeded. Therefore, Klaus knew that he was in for at least another few decades of his baby sister's wrath and, after a handful of years striving to make amends, he was past the point of caring.

Yet Rebekah was not to be deterred in her determination to make her brother suffer for his misdeed, and so every opportunity to irritate Niklaus further that presented itself, she quickly seized. This was the sole reason that Rebekah had found herself seated on a barstool at the seediest tavern in New Orleans, throwing back gin and tonics as though they were going out of fashion. Her long, honey-blonde locks had long since escaped from the bun she had woven them into that morning. They spilled down her back and glowed enticingly in the light cast from the overhead gas lamp chandelier. Although Rebekah rarely favoured corsets, despising the way they restricted her movements, she sported one today only to highlight her cleavage beneath the low cut neckline of her dress. She was dressed more for afternoon tea than a night on the town, in her pinstriped pale green gown and her white lace gloves, but the effect of innocence the ensemble created was wholly intentional. The lustful glances shot her way as a result did not go unnoticed by the vampire; in fact, she positively basked in them, grinning and leaning back on her stool as yet another hopeful letch slid a cocktail across the bar to her with a wink. Rebekah accepted the offering and downed it quickly before slamming the empty glass back down.

"Do keep them coming, boys," Rebekah crooned, loud enough for the entire room to hear, "big brother is watching and I do so hope to drive him rather insane with worry."

Although not a soul in the entire bar truly understood her meaning, several men grinned as though in on the joke. Rebekah rolled her eyes and turned back to her remaining drink, already bored of the dull halfwits surrounding her and yet too hell-bent on her quest to castigate her big brother to admit defeat. She ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass and attempted to ignore the sensation of Klaus' eyes boring into her back from where he stood. He had been stationed outside the window for the last half hour but Rebekah had no intention of obeying the command behind his glowering.

A pout found its way onto Rebekah's lips and she huffed out a sigh, half debating whether she _should_ go outside and end the whole silly feud with Klaus just so she could cease spending her evenings abusing her undead liver in the underbelly of the city. Elijah had warned her that she would grow tired of her games before Klaus did but Rebekah had never been one to take heed of advice, no matter how sage. She rolled her eyes and growled under her breath, turning around on her stool and preparing to hop down. Really, she was punishing herself far more than she had managed to punish Klaus, and she secretly longed to be back in her big brother's graces anyway. The situation with Marcel may have underlined to her just how ruthless and conniving Niklaus was capable of being, but she recognised the reasons at the heart of his cruelty; as always, Klaus was afraid- afraid that the love his family felt for him would be eclipsed and afraid that he would be left to live out eternity alone as a result. For someone as lost as Klaus had always been, there was no worse thought.

However, Rebekah found herself with her nose pressed unexpectedly into the broad chest of a man, who immediately rested one hand on her shoulder to steady her.

"Please excuse me, Madame," the man drawled, a sudden smile flourishing beneath his blonde beard and moustache. Rebekah's frown was instant and she stepped back with enough force to wrench her shoulder free from the man's grasp.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Leon Butler the third… and you are?" he inquired, reaching for Rebekah's right hand and attempting to raise it to his lips. Arching a brow, Rebekah bristled at the presumption and extracted her hand from the long fingers that had entwined around it.

"Not interested," Rebekah replied scornfully, her gaze roving the new arrival with unmasked disgust. He carried himself like a gentleman and certainly presented himself as such with his walking cane, pocket watch and expensively tailored suit, but beneath his exterior there was something displeasing lurking that Rebekah could not quite put her finger on.

"Now don't be that way, my dear," Leon crooned, reaching out to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear, "a beautiful lady such as yourself should…"

"Like to be left alone, I imagine," a voice, gnarled and weary with age, suddenly interjected from Rebekah's side. The vampire turned a little in surprise, shocked to see the short but stout old man who now stood at her elbow, glaring up at Leon with disapproval.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I cannot seem to fathom how this lady's affairs concern you?" Leon spat, leaning forwards and glowering at the stranger, who chuckled as he jammed one hand into his jacket pocket and wordlessly slipped his other arm through Rebekah's. The vampire said nothing, curious as to how the scene was about to play out and wondering if her brother was still watching from his post, finding equal amusement in the fiasco.

"I have every right to concern myself when the young lady you are manhandling is my daughter," the old man retorted, squaring up to Leon impressively despite their considerable height difference. Rebekah managed to swallow a chuckle just in time as she silently congratulated the old man on both his guts and his cunning. Leon bristled, his grip tightening on his cane as he glanced from Rebekah to the old man and back again.

Deciding to play along, Rebekah turned and pecked her 'father's' cheek demurely.

"There you are, Papa," she said brightly, patting the man's hand, "I was beginning to worry."

With two pairs of eyes upon him, Leon grumbled under his breath before turning on his heel and stalking out of the door. For his sake, Rebekah almost hoped that Klaus had given up his vigil for the evening.

Rebekah turned back to the old man who was still clutching onto her arm, half for support, and bestowed upon him a rare and genuine smile.

"Thank you, you are too kind," she insisted, "I thought I'd never be rid of him."

The old man let out a throaty chuckle and was immediately wracked by a series of coughs instead. Rebekah led him over to a vacant table and settled him into a chair, reappearing seconds later with a glass of water. She watched the old man slurp the cold liquid down between his hacking coughs and she felt a small pang of concern pierce her.

"Are you alright?" she inquired, seating herself opposite the man and offering him a handkerchief from her clutch bag. He accepted the white cotton square and mopped at his lips thoroughly before mirroring Rebekah's smile.

"Quite alright," he promised, his grin broadening in reassurance.

Rebekah indicated the glass of water, "Can I get you something stronger? To thank you for your trouble."

"I wouldn't dream of imposing on you any longer," the old man replied, his smile fading and expression melting away to one of uncertainty. Sensing the loneliness almost radiating off the man in waves, Rebekah chuckled and rose from her chair.

"Please… I wouldn't dream of allowing you to," she called over her shoulder as she sashayed to the bar and quietly compelled the barman into pouring them a round of whiskey on the house.

She returned to the table and set the drinks down, settling in next to the old man before she extended her right hand to him.

"Rebekah Mikaelson," she declared as he slipped his hand into hers and shook it gently.

"Charles Vincent," he answered, releasing Rebekah's hand and seizing his glass. He tipped it cordially in her direction in a gesture of thanks before raising it to his lips and sucking down almost half of the alcohol swirling around the bottom of the tumbler.

"So Mr. Vincent, do you make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress in every bar you frequent?" inquired Rebekah with an amused smirk as she nursed her glass. Charles chuckled and shook his head, his grey eyes twinkling in the lamplight.

"Only the beautiful ones," he replied after a pause, a faraway look suddenly creeping into his expression and stealing the mirth from his smile.

"Careful or I might think you no better than our friend Mr. Butler," Rebekah snickered, tossing her loose curls over her shoulder haughtily, although her tone was not unkind.

Charles laughed openly now, his cheeks growing ruddy with the gesture. Rebekah's grin only grew and she decided quickly that she liked this man, whoever he was and wherever he had appeared from. He reminded her in part of her brother Elijah; there was a certain parallel in the way he seemed to pride himself on his manners and cordiality, even in the most obscure of situations. It was certainly not common to be drinking cheap whiskey at midnight in a bar with a woman who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be the epitome of the perfect lady.

"No, my dear," he replied eventually, "one thing at least is true; I am certainly old enough to be your father."

Rebekah hid her wry smile behind the rim of her glass and refrained from commenting. The man had no way of knowing that Rebekah had lived his own lifetime ten times over, and so she ignored the naiveté of his answer.

"But you do so much remind me of my wife," he continued, his tone growing more subdued and some of the light fading from his eyes. "She was nothing a man expected but everything he would have wanted… my Emeline."

Rebekah sensed the immediate shift in mood and resisted the urge to reach across the table for Charles' hand, the need to provide comfort almost overwhelming.

"How long ago did she pass?" she asked softly, recognising the raw pain of grief when it was presented to her. She had not been out of touch with her humanity for so long that she could not recall the way loss could coil itself around one's heart and strangle the very last beat from it. In fact, it was a sensation that Rebekah was certain she would never forget, no matter how many centuries her body managed to endure.

"Almost five years now," Charles responded, struggling to offer a subsequent smile to his companion despite the moisture that sparkled tellingly in the corners of his eyes, "but I do still miss her so."

"Then she was a very rich and lucky woman," replied Rebekah, her tone growing softer and more soothing. "Not many know the kind of love that endures the decades, let alone the bonds of death."

Charles' resulting smile disappeared beneath the lip of his glass as he took another swig, finishing off the last of his whiskey.

"Were you married long?" Rebekah probed, gazing intently at the man, ready to compel him in a moment should her questions prove too distressing.

"Fifty three years, seven months, two weeks and one day," he answered, almost as though it were a reflex now. "It was never a great love story; we grew up together as children, fell in love, and when she was old enough I asked her father for her hand. But oh… she was everything."

"It sounds perfect to me," Rebekah said wistfully, leaning her chin on her hand and gazing across the table. A very long time ago, Rebekah had dreamed of nothing more than the wholly ordinary life Charles had painted a picture of. It still astounded her that humans could look back on such an existence and view it as mundane.

"We were never blessed with children. I think that was Emeline's biggest regret," said Charles somewhat sadly. He toyed with his glass, turning it to and fro in his hands as he spoke.

Quietly he added, "It's just me now."

This time, Rebekah did reach across for Charles' hand and swept it up in her own, squeezing his wrinkled fingers tight. They spoke far longer than Rebekah had intended after that, each taking turns to fill the other's whiskey glass as they discussed family, travel and everything in between. Just over two hours later, Rebekah knew that the time to part had come when she noticed that the old man had begun to tire. However, she realised that for the first time in a long while she would be returning home to the compound after having enjoyed a genuinely pleasant evening.

"Thank you once again for a wonderful time, Mr. Vincent," Rebekah said with a smile as she rose from the table and gathered her clutch bag. Charles returned the gesture and shifted in his seat in order to rise. Rebekah shook her head to indicate it was an unnecessary move but Charles stood nonetheless, leaning heavily on his stick as he kissed the back of Rebekah's hand.

"The pleasure was all mine, Miss. Mikaelson," he stated, easing himself back into his seat as the effort of standing became too much.

Rebekah pushed open the door and strode out into the balmy night air, swinging her bag in one hand as she walked along. She had only just broached the mouth of the alleyway positioned at the side of the building when a pair of strong hands fastened around her shoulders and hauled her unceremoniously into the darkness. Rebekah instinctively spun out of the chokehold she had been placed into and wheeled around on her attacker, her teeth bared but her fangs still sheathed. When she saw that she was once again face to face with Leon Butler, Rebekah's lip curled in disgust and fury.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?" she snarled, her posture immediately defensive. She tilted her chin upwards, glaring in defiance and without a shred of fear at the man before her.

"I am here to give you what you deserve," Butler spat, a grin contorting his features in a highly unpleasant way. Rebekah bristled and her anger soared as she realised that the lout doubtlessly had underestimated her. Of course, a human was no match for the centuries old original vampire, and she cocked her head as she stared unimpressed at the man.

"Is that so?" she demanded, even as she considered the many drawn out and painful ways in which she intended to make him suffer before she ended him. Butler merely smirked, the very definition of the cat that got the cream.

"Indeed it is," he murmured. Before Rebekah could react, the glass vial of vervain had been flung in her face and she screamed as her skin began to blister. Using Rebekah's shock and disorientation to his advantage, Butler dove forward and punched the woman hard enough to send her to the ground. Rebekah cried out, the new pain ricocheting through her jaw suggesting that the blow had been delivered with the aid of a knuckleduster or some similar device.

Groaning as the ache began to subside, Rebekah rolled from her stomach onto her left side and began to push herself up using her elbow.

"Ah, ah, ah," Leon chided with a chuckle, delivering a swift kick to Rebekah's stomach before bringing his walking stick down hard across the back of her neck for good measure. He stepped towards the fallen vampire and planted one boot in the centre of her back, applying an almost inhuman amount of pressure.

"What are you?" Rebekah demanded, coughing violently and spitting a small pool of blood into the dirt.

"It's so much more fun to show you," replied Leon. Slowly and deliberately, he raised his cane and Rebekah watched in horror as he tugged on the handle to reveal that the dummy walking stick actually sheathed a long, thin sword. The golden hilt gleamed in the moonlight and a familiar six armed mark was illuminated by pale shafts of stray light.

"Vegvisir…" Rebekah hissed, her fingers forming fists as she felt Leon apply more pressure onto her back, forcing her further into the ground.

"You're stronger than a normal hunter," Rebekah choked out, attempting to stall as she waited for her injuries to heal. She knew there was a degree of internal bleeding but she could feel the tissue beginning to shift and repair itself already.

"Let's say I have magic on my side and leave it at that," Leon said airily, everything about his tone arrogant and thoroughly smug.

"No mind," retorted Rebekah, a smirk of her own beginning to twitch at her lips, "I highly doubt you know what you have gotten yourself into, little boy. It's really rather sad."

Leon let out a loud guffaw, apparently unconcerned by the prospect of someone stumbling upon the scene.

"Oh… you mean I have no idea that I am in the process of besting an original vampire?" the hunter inquired, feigning innocence as he arched a brow at Rebekah. She swallowed hard but rather than display her unease, she allowed her eyes to darken and her razor sharp fangs to descend from her upper gums.

"I believe I will enjoy this…" Butler growled, raising the sword above his head and preparing to plunge it down through Rebekah's skull. "This may smart a little."

Rebekah braced herself to throw the hunter onto his back, every muscle coiled in readiness, however, they were both taken by surprise when a loud cry filled the alleyway.

"Hey! You! Stop there, lad! What do you think you are doing?"

Rebekah gasped as she recognised the weathered voice, and her features melted back to that of a normal, human girl as she watched Charles lumber towards them, brandishing his stick like a weapon.

"Are you insane?" he yelled, his features drawn in thunderous rage as he stared at Rebekah on the ground and Leon standing over her. "Let her up or I swear to God, as old as I am, I will strike you down."

"Stay away," Leon snarled, wheeling around towards Charles, although not removing his foot from Rebekah's back. "You don't understand what she…"

"I understand well enough, you filthy animal," Charles responded coldly, his gaze sliding to Rebekah as he sought her wellbeing. She offered the old man a tight but reassuring smile, shaking her head to convey that he should retreat from the situation.

"Go home, old man… or I won't be held accountable for what happens to you," Butler stated, the meaning behind his words unclear as he stared at his newest adversary.

"Is that a threat?" Charles demanded as he regarded the other man with a kind of cool levelness that even Rebekah envied.

The hunter had only just opened his mouth to respond when Rebekah, deciding to seize the opportunity of his distractedness, grabbed his ankle and flung him onto his back. She scrambled to her feet at human speed, for Charles' benefit alone, and had made it several feet across the alleyway towards the old man when she heard the sound of metal slicing through the air behind her. Expecting to feel the icy blade cut through her flesh at any moment, Rebekah screwed her eyes closed and fastened her fingers onto Charles' arm. However, the man let out a gasp and, at the last possible second, he used the advantage of his weight and the last of his strength to propel Rebekah away from the sword.

"No!" Rebekah shrieked as her eyes flew open just in time to watch the metal tip pierce Charles' stomach.

Leon's mouth fell open as realisation also struck him, but his dismay did not last long as Klaus appeared unannounced behind the hunter and plunged his fist through the young man's chest cavity. Butler gasped, a gargling sound escaping his throat as he began to choke on the blood that was making its way up his windpipe at speed. Finally, Klaus withdraw his bloodied hand from the hunter's body and Leon fell face first into the dirt, barely hanging onto life.

Rebekah managed to catch Charles as he sank to the ground, his cheeks pale and clammy. She lowered him carefully into her lap, stroking his forehead with a gloved hand as he stared up at her, his eyes beginning to water. Tears leaked from the corner of Rebekah's own eyes as she peered down at the man she had only just met and yet who had been unthinkingly willing to give up his very life for her safety.

"Emeline…" he grunted with effort, reaching up a shaking hand to brush against Rebekah's face. A smile played at the corners of his lips, accompanied seconds later by a thin trickle of blood.

"Shhhh, you will see her very soon," Rebekah promised, her voice thick and raw with emotion. She was only vaguely aware of Klaus dropping down by her side, but she knew that his features would be knitted into a mask of worry without so much as glancing at him.

"Bekah, are you hurt?" he demanded, his hand wavering momentarily in the small of Rebekah's back. She only shook her head, too overcome by sudden sorrow to reply.

"What happened here?" Klaus pressed, his eyes drifting from the now deceased hunter and his weapon back to the gentleman whom Rebekah held in her lap.

"He tried to save me," Rebekah explained, sniffing back further tears, "he had no idea…"

"Then that is good enough for me," Klaus replied. With a nod, Klaus raised his own wrist to his lips, preparing to tear into the soft flesh with his fangs. However, Rebekah rested a restraining hand on his forearm and again shook her head.

"No," she murmured, the tip of her index finger stroking the old man's greying cheek as he struggled to draw a breath, "there is someone waiting for him… and she has waited quite long enough already."

Understanding dawning, Klaus sat back on his heels. Without a word, he reached across the darkness of the now all too familiar alleyway and gently seized Charles' hand. Together, the two original vampires waited until the old man drew a final, rattling breath and then was still.

As they walked back to the compound, their clothing ragged and bloodstained, the Mikaelson siblings cut a sombre pair. Rebekah was as silent as the grave until they had reached the solid gate emblazoned with an enormous, familiar letter 'M'. As Klaus reached for the handle, he found his sister suddenly in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. Without a second thought, Klaus wrapped his arms around her, providing her with the solace she so desperately sought, despite the tension that had previously existed between them.

"Thank you, Niklaus," Rebekah murmured into his jacket, closing her eyes as she breathed in his familiar and oddly comforting scent. "My knight in shining armour."

Klaus let out a low chuckle and tenderly stroked the back of Rebekah's head, hopeful that with the oncoming dawn they might also find a much longed for reconciliation. However, only two words left his lips as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

"Always, sister."


	4. Chapter 4

**FAGE 007**

**Title: **TheShadows of a Place I Have Been Before

**Written for: **Speklez

**Written By: **Silverspoon

**Rating: **T for violence and language

**Summary/Prompt used: **'Knight in shining armour' and photo prompt.

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this exchange visit the facebook group:** **Fanficaholics Anon: Where Obsession Never Sleeps, or add the C2 to get all the stories direct to your inbox.**

** www**** . fanfiction community /FAGE-007/93625/**

**The Shadows of a Place I Have Been Before**

_**Part IV**_

_**New Orleans, 2014**_

It was desperation and misery that on a chilly Autumn night drove Klaus to the centre of the city, where after many hours of flinging back Bourbon and shots he found himself on his knees in the dirt with a particularly pissed off witch standing over him. As blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, Klaus realised that he had finally lost the will to fight. The idea of resistance seemed almost a foreign concept, and so the hybrid knelt and took his punishment as it came. Even as he felt his throat beginning to constrict, the small bones being crushed by the invisible hand of the nameless witch's powers, Klaus did not react beyond a gasp. He was too absorbed in his sorrow to care much what would become of him now. He had lost his only daughter, his flesh and blood, and he was not certain that there was anything that could wrench him from this waking nightmare.

The sound of his own gurgling filled his ears and Klaus slumped forwards into the mud, his arms flying out either side of his body. He lay in the alleyway as though he were being crucified, and in a way he supposed that he was. The witch standing over him continued her chant, her voice growing more and more triumphant as the seconds mounted. Still the hybrid lay motionless, longing for the young woman to succeed where hundreds had failed before her over the centuries. Now, Klaus almost begged for the cold, silent release of death, because half a bottle of Bourbon ago reality had dawned that there would be no other reprieve from his pain. There was a time when Klaus would have simply indulged in a tantrum; gone on a murderous spree, tearing down his enemies where they stood and leaving them in a bloody pool to demonstrate the sheer weight of a hybrid's wrath. However, on this night, when Niklaus Mikaelson had born witness to the purest miracle the universe had to offer, even he could not bear to begin snuffing out lives.

As he lay in the darkness, his sight beginning to fail him as his body succumbed to the witch's spell, Klaus became faintly aware that the girl was speaking again. The tongue had changed and the English words washed over Klaus without quite seeming to make sense.

"I will make you burn from the inside out, I will tear you limb from limb, I will feed you your own eyeballs, and just when you think you can't take it anymore, I will put you back together and start all over again," the witch snarled, her anger almost palpable as she stared down her captor.

When Klaus made no move and failed to respond, the witch twisted her left hand into a claw and the hybrid felt something inside of his own body start to tear. He let out a high howl of pain and the witch tossed back her head, pride contorting her features.

"You killed Monique and Abigail…" she accused, her voice rising an octave as she added, "you killed my friends and you ruined the Harvest! You took everything from us… everything!"

Klaus' eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he fisted the dirt but made no move to attempt to thwart the witch. Instead, he welcomed her; forced every last muscle in his body into obedient submission with her spell and embraced the waves of pain that came crashing over him as a result. Klaus was well versed in physical pain – had been since he was a boy – but emotional pain was the demon capable of crippling him. So, for once, he succumbed to his own weakness, even basked in it, as he waited for everything to come grinding to a halt and for there to be peace at last.

He was faintly surprised when, through the sensation of the invisible flames that consumed his body, Klaus thought he felt a hand caress his cheek. When his eyes fluttered open, he gasped as he watched Desiree slowly retreat several paces. She moved back to stand almost shoulder to shoulder with two more familiar figures, a small girl and an old man, both of whom offered Klaus smiles that were tinged with sadness and yet understanding.

"It will be over soon, my cher," Desiree murmured kindly, clasping her hands in front of her bodice as she resolved to wait. Klaus shook his head, trying to clear his vision of the impossible images standing before him. The witch droned on and on from her position nearer the mouth of the alley, pouring out her fury and scorn despite the fact it was apparent that Klaus was no longer listening.

"You… can't… be…" Klaus choked out in a whisper, screwing his eyes closed. Upon reopening them, the apparitions had vanished and all that remained was the dank brick wall.

"All that talk floating around the quarter about the big, bad hybrid," the witch hissed, her tone ugly and barbaric, "I guess that's just what it was, hey? All. Talk."

Suddenly, the girl let out a startled squeak and her entire body grew rigid as she was lifted from the floor, the toes of her boots barely scraping the ground. Her brown eyes grew wide and overshadowed with fear, whilst strong fingers dug into the flesh at the back of her neck.

"Not entirely," Hayley whispered, her yellow eyes glowing like an eerie beacon in the blackness. She buried her fangs into the girl's jugular with surprising accuracy and enthusiasm, causing rivulets of crimson to begin running down the witch's blouse. The teen struggled to scream, her mouth open wide, but it was all over too soon for her to truly react. Hayley dropped the spent corpse as though nothing were of less consequence to her, and quickly stepped over it.

"Klaus?" she demanded, rushing to the other hybrid's side and rolling him onto his back in order to survey his injuries. When she saw the colour beginning to return to his cheeks, she let out a sigh of relief and sat back on her heels, wiping the fresh blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. She was a hybrid now, barely hours old just like their daughter, but she seemed to be relishing her new existence with a kind of enthusiasm that Klaus would never have dreamed possible. Perhaps it was her anger at the lot that had been dealt to them or merely the way her own grief for the loss of their child had manifested, but Klaus found himself unable to draw his eyes away from the woman's face.

"What the hell happened here?" Hayley demanded, returning her gaze to Klaus as he struggled into a sitting position. "You could have taken her with one hand tied behind your back, Klaus."

Hayley offered him her arm, helping him to lean against the wall in a bid to prop him up, but she was beyond stunned when he laid his head gently on her shoulder. His breath drifted across her cheek and she immediately smelled the potent alcohol.

"I… I could not bear it…" Klaus whispered in reply, his voice hoarse and laden with unspoken emotions. Hayley swallowed down her tears loudly and, in the darkness, she slipped her hand inside Klaus', a gesture of solidarity in their plight. In the forefront of Hayley's mind was a pair of brilliant blue eyes and tiny rosebud lips; the face of the daughter she had held only once, leaving her with a broken heart and empty arms. If anyone understood Klaus' pain, it was Hayley.

"It doesn't seem real," Hayley agreed quietly, her eyes drifting to the body of the witch she had murdered, not even her first kill of the evening. "This morning she was safe, inside of me, and now… she..."

The two fell silent and, as the tears began to trickle down Klaus' cheeks, Hayley squeezed his hand. Although they knew their child would never want for anything in Rebekah's care, there could be no consolation for the enormous hole her absence had blasted in their lives.

"All night I've been thinking… if only I got to hold her longer… just a second longer… maybe it wouldn't hurt this bad," Hayley confessed, inclining her body slightly towards Klaus. He nodded but did not reply, his ability to speak coherently having apparently been scrambled by not only the witch he had encountered but also by the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed.

Hayley curled her knees into her chest and turned to look at Klaus, cupping his chin in her hand and forcing him to meet her gaze. The way his eyes gleamed in the moonlight with unshed tears tore at Hayley from the inside but she affixed a resolute expression upon her face.

"But this… this isn't the way," Hayley said firmly, her arched brow leaving no room for argument. "You don't get to bail on us like this. Our daughter needs you. Elijah needs you. Marcel needs you, but most of all I… damn it, Klaus..."

She trailed off, her eyes drifting to her fingernails, now broken and caked in the blood of her victims. A tiny flutter of fear inside her chest prevented her from continuing, from admitting what had become apparent over the last few months to everyone aside from Klaus.

This time, Klaus was the one reaching out across the darkness and the expanse between them, the back of his hand grazing the apple of Hayley's cheek. She closed her eyes and her own tears finally began to descend with such force that she immediately gasped for air.

"I need you too…" Klaus whispered, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips, "my little wolf."

And so there in the shadows of the place he had been so many times before, the place where over the years he had felt compelled to allow his waning humanity to shine through, Niklaus held the mother of his child tight to his chest as she wept.

In that one moment, he recalled so many things; a tattered bonnet and a coffin, a frightened child and an ancient lullaby, a hunter's mark and a promise, and the death of a woman who had loved he and their babe so much, she had returned from the grave to be with them.

Klaus had played the knight in shining armour for so long; sometimes victorious, sometimes not, but stalwart without fail. Finally, Klaus had come to realise that perhaps he might need a saviour of his own and, just perhaps, he had already found one- in a pair of hazel eyes and a pair of blue.

After all, everybody needs saving sometimes, and thousand year old hybrids are no exception.

_**THE END**_


End file.
